Summer, God, and Manolos
by wizened cynic
Summary: God shouldn't wear fake Prada" Summer Roberts talks to God. Crossover with The O.C.


**Disclaimer: **Summer Roberts belongs to Josh Schwartz. God belongs to Barbara Hall, though theologists may argue otherwise.  
**Spoilers: **Up to but excluding _The Showdown._ Pretty much AU after that.  
**Notes: **Crossover between _The O.C. _and _Joan of Arcadia. _Written for the **Five Women God Never Spoke To** challenge.

* * *

Summer Roberts hates everybody today. 

She hates Seth and Zach because they are being complete idiots over this whole comic book --- no, sorry, _graphic novel _--- thing, and seriously, how stupid can they be to think it's a good idea?

She hates Marissa --- well, she doesn't _hate_ Marissa. It's just that Marissa stopped being interesting since, like, last summer. Whenever Summer wanted to hang out, Marissa only wanted to raid Caleb's liquor cabinet and whine about Ryan going back to Chino. Even though Summer was the one whose jackass boyfriend ran away like a little bitch on a boat and left nothing but a freaking note, so could somebody have a little perspective here?

So no, Summer doesn't hate Marissa, but Summer doesn't really like Marissa, not since Marissa stopped being her best friend and started to talk only about her, her, her. Marissa talks to Summer, but she never really _tells_ Summer anything.

Summer hates the step-monster, but that's nothing unusual. She hates the people at the shoe store, for not removing the pair of Jimmy Choos from the display window when every single size has been sold out. A little professionalism, anyone? She hates the woman in front of her in line at Starbucks, who spent fifteen minutes trying to decide whether she wanted soy or skim in her latte.

And Summer really, really hates the guy who just sat down beside her at her table, without invitation. The guy is about her age, cute but not in a dorky Cohen way. His clothes kind of suck though, and he's wearing this tan jacket that nobody in Newport would wear, because tan is so last season.

Maybe he's from Chino.

Despite the bad fashion sense, he is pretty good-looking and he keeps giving these looks to Summer like he's trying to flirt with her. Normally Summer wouldn't mind but today she is tired and pissed off and hello, _she_ never said he could sit down.

"Excuse me," she says. "It's _my_ table."

The guy gives her a pompous grin and taps his fingers on the table. (He has nice hands.) "Here's the thing, Summer. Technically, everything's mine."

His comment throws her off for a minute. How does he know her name? Summer scrutinizes the guy, trying to think if she's seen him in school or not. No, he can't be someone from Harbor. There's no way someone like him could show up and not have Summer know about it within the first five minutes.

"Who are you?" she asks. She moves her caramel mocha frappucino away from him, because he looks good, but he might still roofie her drink. "You're not a stalker, are you? Are you from the comic book club? Did Cohen put you up to this?"

"I'm God," he says.

Summer stares at him.

"I'm God," he says again, folding his hands together, smiling.

Okay, this _has_ to be some sick joke Seth is pulling. "Right," Summer tells him. "You're God, and I'm the long-lost sister of the girl who plays April in The Valley. Seriously? This is so not funny."

Summer picks up her shopping bags and prepares to stomp off, when the guy leans over and whispers, "I know everything about you, Summer. I know you used to eat dinner with the maids when you were little, when your dad wasn't home and you didn't want to eat alone. I know you got your period first but you didn't tell Marissa because you knew she'd be jealous. I know your mother's been writing letters to you every month since you were seven. I know you haven't read any of them, but you keep them all in a box, in the bottom drawer of your dresser. I know ---"

Seth might have blabbed about the squirrel thing, and Marissa got her period one week after Summer did, so whatever, but the _letters_.

Nobody in the world knows about those letters. Marissa doesn't know about the letters. Seth doesn't know about the letters. Summer's _father_ doesn't know about the letters.

Summer takes a big sip of her frap and makes a face. The ice has melted, and the drink is all gross and diluted and sticks to the top of her teeth. "How the hell do you know all that? You better tell me, or I am so getting a restraining order against you."

The guy smiles again. (Hell, he's really cute.) "I know everything. I'm God."

Summer sits back down. "I beg your pardon?"

"I'm God. I can say it a hundred times, but I'm still God. And you know it, Summer. You've got a feeling."

Summer takes a deep breath and tries not to freak out.

Is this how God supposed to look like? Summer's nanny was Catholic, and she used to say the rosary a lot so Summer knew the prayers, but she's never been to church so she doesn't know what God looks like or anything.

"So, God," Summer tries again, "what do you want?" She thinks for a minute, then adds as an afterthought, "I don't wear fur. Fur is tacky."

God laughs a little, which would have irritated her if he weren't, you know, _God_. "Here's what I want you to do, Summer. I want you to return that shirt you just bought."

"What?" Maybe it's not a good idea to raise your voice at God, but Summer's talking about clothes here. A lot is at stake. "I just got this shirt. I love this shirt."

"Return the shirt, Summer."

"You know, you shouldn't be the one criticizing my fashion sense. At least I'm not walking around, dressed in an outfit from Old Navy."

God raises his eyebrows and gets up to leave. "See you around, Summer," he says, giving her a little backwards wave.

So Summer really hates the world today. She hates everybody and everything, except for maybe this shirt, which she has to return because God told her to, and like she isn't going to do something God said, especially when he looks like _that_.

* * *

Summer takes the shirt back to the store, where the stupid salesperson who was worshipping her half an hour ago immediately starts looking at her like she's some reject from America's Next Top Model the minute Summer told her she is here for a refund. 

It takes a while, and she ends up returning her shirt but buying two others. Just as she is leaving the store, a blonde woman walks past and drops her purse, right in front of Summer.

Summer doesn't understand how a person can just _drop_ her purse and not notice. Especially when it's a Kate Spade bag. And this woman isn't even hurrying somewhere. She is walking slowly, like she's lost or floating or not really there.

"Hey! Hey!" Summer calls, picking up the purse. Usually Summer wouldn't care at all, but God might still be watching, so she just rolls her eyes and yells, "You dropped something."

The woman turns around and takes a minute to focus her eyes on Summer. She looks awful, her skin is gray and pale, like she hasn't done a mud masque for a month. Like she's given up already, the way Summer almost did after stupid Seth left on that stupid boat.

"Mrs. Cohen?" Summer asks, walking a little closer to give her back the purse, and to make sure that it really is Seth's mother. It doesn't look like her. It doesn't look like the same woman who opened the door for Summer when she went to give the jackass his stuff back, who totally understood the need to vibrate at a high frequency.

"Summer?" Mrs. Cohen's voice is shaky and unsure. "Summer. It's great to see you. And thank you so much, I didn't even realize that . . ." Her voice drifts off.

"Mrs. Cohen, are you all right?"

"I'm fine, dear. I'm just a little tired. Too much work." Mrs. Cohen tries to smile but Summer can see the way the cords in her neck tighten as she breathes deep.

"Are you sure? You look ---" Summer can't say _terrible_, because that would be too mean, but that is what Kirsten Cohen looks like. Terrible. "Maybe you need a break. You should tell Mr. Cohen to take you on a vacation or something."

At the mention of her husband, Mrs. Cohen's shoulders tense up.

"Or not," Summer backpedals, eyeing her warily. "Just take it easy, Mrs. Cohen."

"I will, Summer." Mrs. Cohen tries to smile again. It takes so much effort that Summer almost wants to tell her to save it, don't hurt herself over it. "And please, call me Kirsten."

"Bye, Mrs. Cohen," Summer says, walking away. She doesn't want to see Kirsten Cohen like that, old and lost and missing a few pieces. Summer hasn't seen Mrs. Cohen look this bad since Seth ran off last year. Actually, Summer thinks she's looking even worse.

As she heads toward her car, she almost wants to call up Seth and ask him what is wrong with his mother. But then she remembers that she's not talking to him, and even if she were, he probably wouldn't know because Seth doesn't pay attention to anything other than his whiny boy music and dumbass comic books.

* * *

It's a week later, and Summer has finally gotten the new shoes she wanted. She is feeling pretty good, even though Seth and Zach are still being stupid, Marissa is still being boring, and the step-monster is still a bitch. Life sucks, but a new pair of Manolos always makes things slightly better. 

She rests on a bench, staring at the water fountain and trying not to laugh at the little kids who are tossing in chump change and making penny wishes. She is pondering whether or not she wants a chai tea when somebody sits down beside her.

At first she thinks it's another Newpsie, but the woman turns around and her smug smile gives it away. Plus, she is wearing hideous pants. "Hi, Summer," the woman quips. "It's me, again."

Summer narrows her eyes. "God shouldn't wear fake Prada."

"You should learn to look beyond your appearances."

"You should learn to look like a hot teenage guy, like, all the time." Summer sighs. "So what do you want from me this time? I'm _not_ returning these shoes."

"I'm not telling you to return anything this time. By the way, you did a great job the other day."

"Yeah, what was that all about? Was that shirt made in a sweatshop by kids in Central America? You're not asking me to save the world, right? Because I've got an appointment for a manicure next week."

"Saving the world will not interfere with your fingernails. You're doing just fine, Summer."

"Look." Summer takes a deep breath and rolls her eyes for good measure. "About Mrs. Cohen, is there anything you can do about that? Because she looks like hell and she generally looks pretty good for her age. Can you help her or something?"

"You already did. You can't see the ripples, but they're there."

Summer groans. Talking to God is like talking to a fortune cookie.

"Listen, Summer. I'm going to be dropping by from time to time. I'll need you to run a few errands, all right?"

She almost throws her cellphone at God. Except she doesn't, because she likes her cellphone. "Listen, God," she snaps, "I don't run errands. That's what I have hired help to do, okay? You want someone to do your dirty work, go look in the classifieds."

God rises to her feet and says, "Goodbye, Summer. Lend Ryan your calc notes."

"I'm not going to do it," Summer hollers as God disappears into a crowd of creepy-looking goth kids. She grumbles a little and tries to remember where she put her calc notes.

So God's going to be making regular visits to her. This is seriously too freaky to consider. This is like Buffy, except Summer has better hair.

Summer thinks she doesn't mind God that much, because everybody else is being an ass anyway. And hey, if God can go back to looking the way he did the first time, with the short spiky hair and eyes and the smile, but nix the Old Navy getup, maybe, just maybe, Summer will ask him to the prom.


End file.
